


(i wish there was) another way out

by Xarybde



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xarybde/pseuds/Xarybde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you want to claw at the weak flutter of your heart between your ribs until the world falls into silence - the only thing you really want is being able to lay your head down and rest, but there's a stranger dancing beneath your eyelids and you can't hear your own thoughts over the roar of blood in your fingertips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i wish there was) another way out

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning : I don't think there's anything particulary graphic in here, but keep in mind that it is emotionally heavy and speaks of mental illness from an insider perspective. Stay safe <3

Being mentally ill is weird.

It's like there's a part of yourself that doesn't really belong to you anymore, that's completely out of control. There's a foreigner in your head you wished you were able to surgically remove, like a parasite - but the worst thing is, it's you. You recognize yourself in the blurred scars you can feel pressing themselves under your heart, and you look at yourself and can only see this deeply-buried, twisted child of yours until it feels like that's all there is to you anymore. 

Sometimes at night you can feel yourself tethering on the edge of insanity and even though this storm will come to pass, you're always, always so afraid that you'll wake up in the morning and still feel the hollow cave of your thoughts that reverberates against your skull, again and again. Sometimes you want to bleed it out, and sometimes you do. But mostly you lay there, alone and scared, and you wish you were able to sleep to scare the nightmare away. 

Most of the time you're fine, and that's the thing. People don't look at you and think of the tendrils of illness that dig deep, deep into your chest. They look at you ask themselves why you look like you hadn't slept in weeks, they think you're lazy because sometimes you just sit at your desk for hours and you have to concentrate to keep breathing, inhale, exhale, one at a time and you can't do any work because there's claws that dug into your scalp and refuses to let go. They talk to you about their lives and ask themselves why don't you want to be their friend, 'cause you never talk about the really important stuff, and you're left wondering how to tell them you wished you could but there's something in your throat you can't swallow past. Maybe it's you, maybe it's years of keeping it all curled up within the space between your ribs, or maybe it's the iron-hot memory of your parent, a sibling, another friend, learning about it and thinking less of you for it, but either way the words won't come out. 

you're tired. of everything, really. There's something cold and heavy that's settled in your gut and it drags you down everywhere you go. Even living starts to become a chore, and it just hurts. all the fucking time. You feel like the air you breathe pull at all the little scars (they're taking you down, one at a time), and at some point you just want everything to stop. There's the threat of insanity dancing beneath your eyelids and you're terrified you'll live to see all the terrible things that you'll become.

Sometimes you hate the entire world. You always hate yourself.

Mostly you're just sad.

**Author's Note:**

> So. I don't really know what to say about that. Sometimes I need to get things out, and for some reason they just refuse to be anything but in english, so I'm sorry if there's any grammatical mistakes. Thanks for reading, and don't hesitate to leave a review ;)


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